
CIass__ELM_ 
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SERMON, 



ON OCCASION OF 



THE LATE FIRE, 



CITY OF NEW YORK. 



(Published by Request.) 



BY THE REV. ORVILLE DEWEY, 

PASTOR OP THE OHUnCH IN MERCER STREET. 



NEW YORK: 

DAVID FELT & CO., STATIONER'S HALL, 

NO. 345 PEARL STREET. 

1 V 

' \ 183 6. 



/a-/ 






Us- 



Entebxd according lo Act of Congress, in the year imb, by David 
Felt & Co., in the Clerk's oflSce of tne District Court of the boutheTi' 
District of the State of New York. 



STATIONERS HALL PRESS. 



SERMON. 

"All flesh is grass, ajto all the goodliness thereof is as the flower 

OP THE field: the grass withereth, the flower padeth; because the 
Spirit op the Lord eloweth upon it; sctrely the people is grass. The 
grass withereth, the flower padeth, but the word op our God shall 
STAND FOR E\'ER."' — Isaiali xl. 6, 7, 8. 

This is the language which I address to you, my 
brethren, on the unprecedented calamity of the past 
week ; unprecedented, certainly, in this country. It 
has been compared with similar events in history ; but 
as we cannot desire to exaggerate the evil which has 
befallen us, it may be proper here to state how en- 
tirely it falls short of those calamitous visitations of 
Providence. The four hundred streets, thirteen thousand 
houses, and eighty-nine churches of London, which 
were burnt in 1666, and the seventeen, almost eighteen 
thousand buildings burnt in Moscow, in 1812, left but a 
small portion of those cities remaining. The confla- 
gration here has left us still a vigorous and wealthy 
city, with a spring of courage and elasticity strong 
enough to sustain it. Still it is a calamity from which, 
doubtless, it will take the city several years to recover 
itself; and it is a calamity, too, which does not press 
upon the ostensible and immediate sufferers alone, but 
which must be felt, more or less, by every citizen among 
us. At such a time, I think it is proper that our medi- 
tations in the sanctuary should bear some express refer- 
ence to what is occupying so many minds, and is of suqH 
wide-spread and permanent consequence. 

8 



For this purpose I have chosen a passage of Scrip- 
ture, which reminds us of man's frailty, and of God's 
power ; of the uncertainty of worldly possessions, and 
of the value of those only possessions which are cer- 
tain. "The voice said" — thus is our text introduced, 
" The voice said, Cry. And he said. What shall I 
cry ? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof 
is as the flower of the field : The grass withereth, the 
flower fadeth ; because the Spirit of the Lord bloweth 
upon it ; surely the people is grass." This is the lan- 
guage of admonition ; a sound of lamentation is in our 
ears. But suddenly the tone changes to encourage- 
ment and confidence : " The grass does, indeed, wither, 
the flower fades — let it wither, let it fade ; but the word 
of our God shall stand for ever." All is not lost, though 
all things earthly were lost; " the word of our God 
shall stand forever." 

Let us, then, meditate upon topics that are accordant 
with these words, and with the occasion that has sug- 
gested them. 

L And first, as we most appropriately may — upon 
the impotence of man and the omnipotence of God. 

It has been often said that man is the lord of this 
lower creation ; that he holds empire over nature. In 
this age, which has, doubtless with some degree of 
propriety, been called " the age of machinery," such 
assumptions are likely to occupy a large space in men's 
tho\ights ; and they are in danger of forgetting, in the 
signal success of their inventions and devices, how im- 
potent, after all, they really are. We hear but too much, 
I am afraid, or at least too much in the tone of boasting, 
of man's wonderful control over the elements — how 
that he has learned to stretch forth his mysterious wand 



of power over the sea ; how he has Hfted his pointed 
sceptre to the heavens, and disarmed the hghtning, and 
caused its fiery bolt to fall harmless at his feet ; how, 
in fine, he has conquered nature, and compelled its 
mightiest agents, fire, water, air, earth, to do his bid- 
ding. 

Now, there is one aspect of nature, which, in this 
view, deserves to fix our attention. There is a point 
in nature to which our control extends — beyond which 
it ceases. And I believe that in this, as in every thing 
else, the material world is designed to answer moral 
ends. We have control up to a certain point, in order 
that our ingenuity may be called forth, our faculties 
exercised, and society improved — beyond that point our 
control ceases, that we may not be suffered to forget 
the sovereignty and omnipotence of God. It is with 
every element of nature, in this respect, as it is with 
every department of knowledge. Both lead us soon to 
find our limit, and then subhmely point us to the un- 
known and the infinite that lie beyond it. Both task 
our faculties and encourage us with success, to a cer- 
tain extent, and then admonish us of greater things still, 
never to be achieved. Both tend, therefore, to make 
us humble, and, at the same time, to lift our thoughts 
to things above us. 

So wise and lofty is the moral intent of the system 
of nature. Thus what is most famihar to our use and 
experience, becomes the teacher of sublime truths. 
That familiarity is not allowed to degenerate into impi- 
ous levity. Man is made to feel that he is still sur- 
rounded with God's omnipotence. I have heard from 
the thoughtless, the language of that impious levity : 
but I have also seen it fearfully checked. I have heard 



the rude sailor, when lie bade " the winds blow," as he 
clung to the giddy mast ; I have heard the reckless 
traveller, when he almost railed against inclement skies, 
forgetting whose ministers the}'^ are ; but, under more 
awful viifitations of the elements, I have seen the 
boldest, trembling and prostrate, with more than the fear 
of childhood. 

Nature, then, though in its milder moods it is subject 
to a certain control, is commissioned also, to teach man 
otlier lessons than those of self-confidence. When the 
ocean-storm crosses not his path, he proudly steers 
his vessel across the deep, and it obeys him — " as a 
-Steed that knows its rider ;" the mighty ship, which 
treads the waves beneath it, and leaps from one ocean- 
chasm to another, he seems to hold, as it w^ere, in his 
very hand. But let the storm come in its fury, and he 
finds that one wave can overwhelm him ; that he offers 
his breast to a power — nay, that he offers the ribbed 
bows of his ship to a power, that no more regards him, 
than it does the frailest shell on the shore. When the 
skies are calm and serene, man's peace is strong 
within him ; yes, and amidst the ordinary agitations 
of the elements, he can feel security ; but I have 
marked — and with me it v/as a moral reflection — I 
have marked, that every now and then, there comes 
a storm which seems to bear, in its blackening bosom, 
other messages ; •which makes man feel, that the 
wing of the tempest may sweep him away, or that 
one liglitning-flash may blast and consume him in 
a moment. We are not left to imagine that our 
lordship over the creation shall own no superior 
Lord. The elements that are in most familiar use, 
will sometimes show us, how -ompletely they arc 



beyond our power- That element which it is our 
special boast in modern times, that we have caged and 
confined, and compelled to work for us in its dark 
prison-hold — how often does it break forth and spread 
horror and death through our floating palaces. The 
flame that burns upon your hearth — I need not tell you, 
with the spectacle that has lately been before your eyes, 
wliat it may do. Who that saw the fiery spirit of de- 
struction let loose among yonder warehouses — who 
that saw and heard that roaring deluge of flame which 
swept through the chambers ot wealtli and commerce, 
did not feel the impotence of the proudest men or com- 
munities, when waging war with the powers of 
nature ? 

And the mightiest agents of nature, too, like the 
God whom alone they obey, are no respecters of 
persons. The strong and the weak alike bow before 
them. The high and the low alike tremble in their 
presence. Nature knows nothing of favouritism ; and. 
when her dread ministers come forth to do her biddingy. 
they respect as little the marble palace or the granite 
warehouse, as the meanest hovel of poverty. Else- 
where may be found compliments and flatteries ; but 
the awful words in which nature finds utterance, the 
roaring of flood, or storm, or fire, the thunder's tone,, 
the earthquake's voice, is softened to no phrases of 
adulation. It speaks — and human hearts quail beneath- 
it ; — be they clothed with ermine, or clothed in rags,, 
be they girt with stars and orders of nobihty, or bound 
around with the hermit's girdle, they quail beneath it. 
It speaks — and what does it say ? " All flesh is grass^ 
and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the 
field; the grass withereth, the flower fadeth; be- 



cause the Spirit oi the Lord, the wind of heaven, bloweth 
upon it ; surely the people is grass." 

But I spoke not only of man's impotence, but of 
God's omnipotence. We have witnessed what we 
call, and justly call, an awful conflagration. But the 
element which has spread its ravages over a fair portion 
of our city, has revealed but little of what God has 
committed to its tremendous energies ; " the hiding of 
his power" is more awful than its manifestation. It 
has laid but a small section of one of the five hundred 
cities of the world, in ruins. " Lo ! these are parts of 
his ways ; but how little a portion is heard of him — 
but the thunder of his power, who can understand." 
" Before him," says the sublime prophet Habakkuk, 
" before him went the pestilence, and burning coals 
went forth at his feet ; the everlasting mountains were 
scattered ; and the perpetual hills did bow." And we 
read of a time, when the world itself shall be on fire, 
and the elements shall melt with fervent heat. And 
we have lately seen in the heavens a body, which, in 
a former revolution, as we are told, glowed with a heat 
sufficient to consume the world with its breath. And 
yet that was but a meteor of the evening sky, com- 
pared with the eternal fires of the ten thousand times 
ten thousand suns and systems, that light up the infinite 
regions of day ! What, then, shall we say — what shall 
we think, of God's omnipotence ? " God hath spoken 
once ; twice have I heard this ; that power belongeth 
unto God '" 

I have spoken of man's impotence. But let us not 
forget, that there are respects in which he has strength 
— a strength far beyond what is given to his body — far 
beyond what is given to his mere intellect. It is in 



moral strength that man comes nearest to a victory 
over nature. His flesh is weak. " The grass withereth." 
But there is a " word of God," a power of God, in the 
soul, that " shall stand." His flesh is weak y but his- 
spirit may be strong. Nay, such is the power of the 
moral will, that it often imparts amazing strength even 
to the weak flesh. It makes those sinews and nerves,, 
which are all sensitive and alive to suffering, strong to 
endure as brass or marble. The Indian singing his 
war-song amidst the most excruciating tortures; the 
martyr preserving his^ heavenly calmness and lifting 
his eye of triumph to heaven, when the flames kindle 
around him ; and he too, who, with a steady eye and 
an unbroken courage, can behold the destruction of that 
property which he has toiled years to accumulate — 
each of these presents instances of power in the mind, 
that can rise superior to poverty, to pain, and death. 
Though man, then, is weak, yet has he strength ; and 
though poor, yet may he have possessions. 

II. And this leads me to the second observation T 
intended to make — which is, on the uncertainty of all 
earthly possessions, and the value of the only possessions 
that are certain. "The grass withereth, the flower 
fadeth ; but the word of our God shall stand forever." 

There is nothing on which men generally lay their 
hand with a grasp so eager, or with a reliance so certain, 
as on property. Property is, in this world, the grand, 
ostensible, universal form of power. It is a power ap- 
plicable to almost all human purposes ; since the ends 
of virtue, learning, ambition and pleasure, may be alike 
gained by it. There are other forms of power indeed, 
and especially the social and political. But political 
power must be confined to a few ; and social power;„ 



10 

though universal, is not so palpable in its influence, or 
obvious in its advantages. Meanwhile, property stands 
forth, a powder within the reach of all, level to the com- 
prehension of all. It draws attention ; it surrounds 
itself with splendour, or at the least, with comfort ; and 
yet more, it is, or is conceived to be, independence. 
But above all, it is a fixed, permanent, tangible good 
It is something which a man can see, weigh, and de- 
finitely estimate ; it is something which he can leave 
behind him for his children. Health too, I know, re- 
putation, influence, are advantages ; but they are com- 
paratively vague, uncertain, and unsubstantial. The 
one dwells in a certain state of the nerves and sensa- 
tions — you cannot see it ; another has its being in the 
fleeting, changing breath of the multitude — you cannot 
make any exact account of it ; and the other, social in- 
fluence, is felt — where, and how ? Why it is felt but 
in the kindly greeting, in the grasp of the hand or the 
glance of the eye, " Let me have," is the feeling of 
nmltitudes, though they may not so express it — " let 
me have that which has weight and substance to re- 
commend it ; something that will stay by me, though 
health and reputation and friends forsake me ; some- 
thing that I can transmit to my children as a sure and 
fast inheritance." This, I say, is the worldly feeling; 
and I do not, by any means say, that the worldly feeling, 
but for the excess to which it goes, is to be condemned. 
But I ask, if it does not overrate, not the importance 
merely, but the certainty of this possession. I ask, not 
whether that, upon which you lay your hand so securely, 
can buoy and bear you up and make you content and 
happy — for I know, and you, in your sober thoughts, 
know that it cannot ; but I ask, whether it possesses 



11 

that quality of being peculiarly substantial and perma- 
nent, which you imagine. Yonder massive warehouses 
— where are they now ? Vanished, with many a solid 
bale of merchandise — vanished, like an exhalation of 
the night. In the morning you looked for them, and 
lo ! a blackened and unsightly heap of ruins ! The ample 
estate, so deliberately devised and with the strong bond 
of the last will — could that bond hold it fast, could its 
seals protect their trust, from the dissolving flame ? 
The property, thought to be so securely invested in in- 
corporated companies — the little all of hundreds — what 
are its certificates now, but so much waste paper ? And 
this indeed is the severest part of the late calamity. 
There are, I fear, many retired individuals — profes- 
sional men perhaps, scholars, females, widows and 
orphans — persons of moderate properly and small in- 
comes, who have, in one night, lost their sole reliance. 
It is comparatively a small thing, I am tempted to say, 
that active and enterprising men — men of business and 
resource, should have lost a part of their capital, or all 
of it; they know how to repair the loss. They have 
health, and energy, and courage. But those of whom 
I speak, are, some of them, sick ; some aged ; and many 
are of the weaker sex — entitled to every degree of con- 
sideration from a generous, liberal, and wealthy com- 
munity, and the more entitled to it, because they cannot 
come into the throng of men, to plead their own cause, j 
wish that the case of such might, at a proper time, be 
commended to the public attention. If I might consult 
my own feelings, I should say that there ought, in a 
country hke this, overflowing with wealth, to be a noble 
subscription in their behalf. This is conformable to 
the usage of every civilized community, in cases of 



12 

extraordinary calamity, and if it is not conformed to, 
in this instance, it will only be, because the sufferers 
cannot put their case with all its aggravations be- 
fore the public eye — because they sit apart, in silence, 
and alone. Indeed, this is a case, a case of conunon 
exposure to wide-spread calamity too, where, in 
some instances, the rich will be compensated at the 
expense, and to the ruin of poor men and poor women, 
the holders of the fatal stocks. It is as if amidst a 
shower of fire from heaven, the roofs were taken from 
a hundred poor dwellmgs to spread a shield of protec- 
tion over a few splendid palaces. Nor can it be be- 
lieved, when all ihis comes to be considered as it must 
be, that something will not go from those splendid 
palaces, to kindle the fire again on many a cold hearth, 
where, I doubt not, bitter tears have fallen, in silence, 
in loneliness, and despair. 

But, not to dwell any longer on this, at present, for 
the time has not come yet to vurge this appeal — what a 
tremendous lesson have we received upon the insecu- 
rity of property ! I feel that this is a subject which 
comes home to every one of us. The uncertainty of 
business is proverbial ; but the insecurity of investments 
IS made, by the late calamity, scarcely less striking. 
What form of possession is there that human ingenuity 
can devise, what kind of bond or stock is there, wliich 
either storm, or fire, or pestilence, or war, may not break 
up, and scatter to the winds ? 

In such circumstances — certain of nothing — certain 
neither of health, nor reputation, nor friends — certain 
not even of that of which we are most certain — how 
strongly is commended to us the divinely-taught wisdom 
of making a provision for ourselves, that is beyond the 



13 

reach of all earthly vicissitude ! " Lay not up for 
yourselves treasures on earth, where the moth doth 
corrupt, and thieves break through and steal ; but lay 
up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither 
moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not 
break through nor steal." 

And, my brethren, the lesson which is here incul- 
cated by the great Teacher — which is so powerfully 
commended to us by the late awful visitation of Prov- 
idence — is doubtless one which greatly needs to be 
enforced among us. 1 do not speak, nur think of that 
visitation as a special judgment. It is embraced, in my 
view of it, among those general means, by which God 
is ever teaching us that the great end of life is one that 
lies far beyond and above all earthly comforts, posses- 
sions and splendours. It is this, I say, that we are taught, 
and need to be taught. We are, in a life of business, 
surrounded by fearful exposures ; and especially, ought 
I not to say, in this very city, whose prosperity has 
been invaded by such a sudden and awful calamity. I 
speak of this city, no otherwise, than as a scene of such 
active and engrossing business, as hardly has its par- 
allel in the world. I say, that in such circumstances, 
and on such a theatre, there is a severe and solemn 
trial of human virtue. From this pulpit you would 
expect me to say no less ; but I would to God that it 
were not regarded as the mere language of the pulpit. 
I say that this is a trial which touches the essential 
point of all human welfare. And I fear that many are 
falling in this momentous probation ; that many are 
losing sight of things infinitely dearer than wealth — 
that they are losing sight of the immortal, in the mor- 
tal — of " durable riches," in perishing riches — of the 
2 



14 

soul, in sense — of God, in the world — the very world 
that he has made to reveal him ! I speak to you, my 
brethren, but as I would speak to myself in the same 
circumstances. I say, there is danger. That whelm- 
ing flame carried no alarm to my mind so awful, be- 
cause it conveyed danger to no interests so momentous, 
as those which are put in peril — I will dare to say it — 
by the prosperous business of every day ! Think me 
not extravagant, till you can prove to me that the eager 
strife of business is not rendering hundreds, and thou- 
sands iiiurt; iiidiiTereni to ihelr souls' welfare, than they 
are to the smallest items of their daily-accumulating 
gains. Think me not extravagant, till you can prove 
to me that that scene of business which God designed 
to be a field for the noblest virtues, is not making many 
among us, selfish, covetous, and possibly dishonest. To 
whom this may appertain I know not; but this 1 
say : — if you are a man whose god is gold, and whose 
life is one lengthened service and slavery to that god ; 
if your mind as well as your body is bowed down to 
worship it ; if you pay it the homage of all your chief 
hopes and wishes and anxieties, and are sacrificing 
mind, memory, reason, conscience, religion, every thing, 
at its altar ; if you are garnering up the dear treasure 
in your secret thoughts, and brooding sweetly over it, 
as you never brood even over the thoughts of heaven ; 
if you are growing proud, not grateful, as you are grow- 
ing rich, and are learning, by an almost unconscious 
process, to feel as if you were independent of man and 
of God alike — then, I say, it was time that you were 
taught, by a visitation as solemn and admonitory as 
that which has laid a part of your city in ashes. Bet- 
ter that the property of half of the country were con- 



15 

sumed by fire, than that a spirit, fierce for gain, and 
reckless of every thing else, should burn with more 
fatal fires, in ten thousand families among us. Wealth 
is not the chief good — must we gravely say so ? Is 
this a country that deserves to be addressed, with the 
irony implied in such a declaration ? "Wealth, in fact, 
is not so great a good as the energy that obtains it. A 
man is not so fortunate in the possession of millions, as 
he was in the activity, industry and talent that enabled 
him to acquire them. Wealth is valuable, doubtless ; 
but its value is contingent — it depends on what has a 
far higher value, the intelligence, liberality, and purity 
of the mind. It takes its whole character from the 
mind of its possessor. To the excellent man it will be 
an excellent thing ; to the mean man it will be a mean 
thing ; to the corrupt man it will be a fountain of cor- 
ruption, a minister of evil. Wealth is not an end, but 
a means. It is good, only in a good use. It is good 
for nothing, in no use ; and it possesses a far worse 
character than that, in a bad use. Like the element of 
heat, it may spread around a genial warmth, and rear 
up fair and beautiful productions, or it may be the 
raging fire of evil passions, in which the soul is either 
hardened, or destroyed. Yes, wealth has, indeed, this 
high and fearful attribute — that it may be to a man one 
of the greatest of his blessings, or one of the greatest 
of curses. 

For, as I walked through your city, I saw a man of 
a haughty brow and a hard heart, and of an iron hand, 
whom wealth had made a covetous man and an oppres- 
sor ; whose spirit gain had immured in the close and 
grated prison of all-absorbing and indurating selfishness ; 
and I said as I looked upon him, " I would rather be 



16 

the poorest man in this city, with a generous heart, than 
to be that man." 

Again, I saw one whom a fair and envied inheritance 
had made rich — a young man, whose father had spent 
the toilsome and anxious years of a hfe, to launch him 
out upon a sea of fortune ; and I saw the ample 
means of indulgence, and the absence of all honourable 
occupation, leading him step by step, till every virtue 
of his youthful heart was tainted to the core, and every 
promise of his early day was levelled in the dust, and 
he was left a wreck of life, upon the verge of an early 
grave — an object as loathsome and piteous to behold, 
as the tenant of the vilest hovel of poverty, and disease, 
and vice : and as I saw this, I meditated much with 
myself, and I said, " Are ample fortune and lavish ex- 
penditure a wise discipline for youth ? — should a pru- 
dent and industrious father be mainly anxious to pro- 
vide such a lot for his son''" — and I looked with a seri- 
ous and distrustful eye, upon those immense accumula- 
tions of property, that draw the admiring gaze of the 
world. 

But again I went forth, and another man I saw, and 
he too was opulent ; but I saw that he grew modest, 
not proud, and beneficent, not voluptuous, with his in- 
creasing wealth. I saw, too, that in the midst of all the 
splendours and comforts of ample fortune, he bowed in 
humble gratitude before the great Giver of all blessings ^ 
and I saw, too, that his abundance flowed forth in many 
streams of beneficence to the world around him; that 
he was the poor man's friend, and the young man's pa- 
tron and adviser, and the generous protector of his kin- 
dred, and the liberal fosterer of science and learning, 
and the noble helper of many charities ; and then it 



1:7 

seemed to me that wealth was a good and beautiful 
thing — a blessed stewardship in the service of God, and 
a divine manifestation of mercy to man. 

Again I looked upon this man, and I saw him fallen 
from that fair estate, and stripped of all the splendours 
of fortune ; and I looked to see him broken and fallen 
in spirit : but no ; he met me with a cheerful counte- 
nance ; and what did he say ? "I have lost that 
which I valued ; but think not, my friend, that 1 
have lost what I most value— the trust and peace of 
my own mind. I pretend to no cynical indifference ; I 
am a dweller upon earth, and earth's possessions were 
useful to me, and T m.cant to make them useful to 
others ; but I do not forget that I am a traveller to eter- 
nity. The flood of calamities which it pleased God 
that I should pass through — -truly it has swept away 
from me some fair appendages, some rich wardrobes, 
some goodly equipages of my journey ; but like those 
Eastern merchants, who sometimes, in a perilous jour- 
ney, bore, secreted upon their persons, their whole for- 
tune in one precious diamond, and thus preserved it, 
so do I feel that the calamities I have passed through, 
have left untouched my chief treasure." And when 1 
saw this — when 1 heard this, I felt no longer that I 
looked upon a rich man, or upon a poor man ; but I 
felt that I looked upon a man ! I saw that the word 
of God's promise was true : " The grass Avithereth, the 
flower fadeth ; but the word of our God shall stand 
for ever." 



1* 



NOTE. 

Within the few days that have elapsed since the 
foregoing Discourse was written, we have aheady 
began to see how much good may spring from a 
calamity so great, that, for a while, it left us no thought 
of any thing but the calamity. 

The energy and courage of our citizens — the frater- 
nal feelings called forth among us — the prevailing 
disposition to consider and help one another, is one 
delightful feature in this view of the compensatory 
system of a kind Providence. 

The widely-extended sympathy of the community 
is another. Foremost in the expression of this sym- 
pathy, are the Philadelphia Resolutions, I can tell 
those true brethren, that they have touched many 
hearts — that they have drawn tears from the eyes of 
thousands in this city, albeit unused to the melting 
mood. Nor can it be doubted that time only is wanted 
to bring us similar instances of noble conduct. 

One thing only is wanted to complete the social re- 
muneration — and that is the substantial testimony of 
public sympathy — far the largest to be demanded — 
which is mentioned on page 12 of the Discourse. 

How little should we know of the good feeling there 
IS in the world, if it were not for calamity ! Let the 
cynic and the misanthrope say what they will, the pes- 
tilence, the conflagration, the earthquake, and the storm, 
will provide us with an answer to them ! 



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